


Count Me In

by Arowen12



Series: Count to Ten [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander has 10 soul mates, Alexander is tiny, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Gen, its from their point of view this time though, soul marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arowen12/pseuds/Arowen12
Summary: Ten times Alexander's soul mates realised and what they did about it.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Everyone, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Count to Ten [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633753
Comments: 10
Kudos: 181





	Count Me In

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, here we are with another soul mate fic. I originally wasn't planning a sequel for Down for the Count, but I couldn't get the idea of Jefferson's reaction out of my head. I really enjoyed getting to delve into everyone's character. Read on and enjoy!

1

The first time John hears Alexander speak he thinks _oh_ _there he is_ and stares at the tiny young man with an accent and bright eyes talking about revolution. The words on his arm have been his for so long and to hear them from someone else is strange and wonderful. But Alexander shows no reaction so John tucks it away happy to simply see the man alive, so very alive, and near.

They speak often about slavery, Alexander for all he can go quiet when questioned about his past will freely speak about the mistreatment he saw in the Caribbean, and it gives John the strength to write with the same passion as his friend.

That night in the tent with the alcohol fuzzing pleasantly through his veins and stripping away inhibition John watches with a sort of awe as Alexander peels aside his sleeves and the ink sprawls out before him. Lafayette crowds forward and John cannot help but follow desperately searching as his fingers trail to his own mark; some things begin to make sense.

His words are there on Alexander’s arm and John cannot stopper the elation that swells in his chest, if they were alone, he thinks it might end differently but the subject changes and John waits.

It is at Valley Forge that John doesn’t have to wait any longer. Alexander gets sick, of course, after refusing to rest and accompanying Washington on his surveys of the camp. Often enough they share a cot for warmth, especially with Alexander’s weakness to the cold.

But in the fever Alexander pulls at John’s shirt until it has fallen half off his shoulder and Alexander’s words are clear on his skin. Alexander’s eyes go clear and he traces his fingers light as a summer breeze over the words as he states, “My mother died while she was holding me. Don’t let me die here my dearest John.”

John presses a kiss to his brow and then to his lips as a promise.

But even the memories of Alexander’s bright eyes in the darkness of their tent cannot lessen the feeling of the noose ever-tightening around his throat as he reads his father’s correspondences and strives endlessly to free those in bondage; it is similar to the mud of the fields of battle, to slough through it is to waste your energy and it has consumed its fair share of soldiers.

John reads Alexander’s letters by candlelight afraid of what the contents might reveal by daylight even as the next battle looms. He knows how it will end, it is there in the marrow of his bones, in that sunken part of his chest and the letters shake in his hands and are stained with tears.

As John dies, he apologizes to Alexander for the pain he will cause; he prays it is enough.

2

The way Alexander speaks French is beautiful (that is not the only beautiful thing about the young man), there is an obvious accent, something to the way he rolls his vowels and even some of the words that suggests something tropical, Gilbert has heard its like in the ports of Paris a few times. He doesn’t mention it because at the mere mention of his family Alexander goes pale and clams up tighter than anyone he has met before.

Still, it is a pleasure to listen to Alexander speak French, but even more of a pleasure to hear his passion in English or French, or to read it even what Gilbert cannot understand the way Alexander twists words to his will. The way Alexander’s face lights up when one of them gets him going is enough to set fire to his own veins.

They are all drunk one night, he has procured a bottle finely aged with a rich taste, when they ask, he tells them it is because he’s French, they laugh. The conversation drifts to soul mates and he cannot help but speak of Adrienne, her name is curled in her script around his wrist and when he misses her terribly it is comforting to see it there.

He knows he is rambling and is soft with love but he cannot help it nor is he ashamed of it.

He watches John when he shows the words on his collarbone and glances at Alexander, when John touches his shoulder and raises a brow. But then Alexander with slow shaking hands (hands which are never slow or shaking) unbuttons his sleeves which Gilbert only realises now that he has not seen, not in the heat, or the damp.

The sleeves fall away to reveal Alexander’s tanned skin which he is often shamed of. On his forearms is a map of ink, it traverses his forearms in different islands and countries, some larger than the others, some script rocky, other smooth; then he sees his own script.

Gilbert crowds forward and runs his fingers gently over his words and questions, “Vraiment?”

He glances at Alexander who nods with hooded eyes, eyes that are terrified he realises. Of their reaction perhaps? The others crowd forward and when Gil stares at the marks he can recognize John’s hand as well as Hercules’, he recognizes the General’s but says nothing on that front.

“Beautiful.”

John breathes and Gil cannot help but agree, he wants to wrap his arms around Alexander, cradle him to his chest, the fact that he has no soul mark to match means nothing in the face of Alexander’s soul.

He makes good on that promise later.

When the war is over Gilbert cannot help but press his lips to Alexander’s in parting staring at the young man, wishing perhaps that he could stay and watch the new nation beneath his feet grow under their hands. But Adrienne and France are waiting.

Adrienne greets him at the port she presses a kiss to his lips and he presses one to her wrists, she smiles at him and Gilbert feels settled once again. She has read his letters and she is an intelligent woman.

“We could go to America.”

She suggests softly at night curled in his arms tracing her fingers over her name. He presses his nose into her hair and shakes his head as he replies, “We need to bring liberty to France.”

“Alone. I’m sure your Alexander could help.”

A very intelligent woman his wife. He shakes his head knowing that there will be time after, that they might meet again as equals under both of their countries.

He is wrong.

He should have listened to Adrienne.

3

The first time Hercules meets Alexander Hamilton he thinks _tiny_ followed by an immediate endearment to the kid’s brash words and bright eyes. He’s thin, the bones in his face prominent as he talks but the passion makes it lively, less gaunt.

They become fast friends, it is easy to become friends with Alexander, it is remarkably harder to actually be the man’s friend and force him to take a break long enough to eat or sleep. Often enough he resorts to simply picking the kid up and forcing him into his bed until, as quick as a summer shower, he is asleep.

Still he feels kinship to the immigrant as they share similar enough pasts and so when Alexander peels aside his sleeves that night in the tent Hercules crowds forward with the others and stares at his words embroidered on his friend’s skin.

He tells Alex he’s lucky and something soft and hurt flashes over Alexander’s features before he can catch it even as he agrees. Later Hercules will reconsider his statement and wonder what it must be like to love so deeply and so unmatched.

The war ends and Hercules puts aside the spy and returns to tailoring, he meets his soulmate and she is beautiful and her sense of humour would make even the stones beneath their feet laugh. They all write, letters that will appear occasionally but when news of John’s death arrives Hercules can only think of Alexander and the pain of losing a soulmate, that night he holds his wife close.

It isn’t a surprise when Alexander appears a few years later looking haggard and worn and still as thin and tiny as ever. He stumbles inside their home with shaking hands and the words spill from his mouth without a filter untampered by loss and grief.

Hercules shares a look with his wife and it is a silent agreement to pull Alexander to their bed and cradle him between their arms.

After that the letters come faster from Alexander, often they are full of reassurances and complaints about the government and Jefferson. Hercules replies with invites for tea and when Alexander inevitably shows up out of the blue his wife plies him with as much food as possible and Hercules tries to discreetly take his friend’s measurements; maybe he can convince Alex to try a less vibrant shade of green.

4

He hears the rumours first, of a young upstart, stealing cannons, refusing offers to be on the staff of others in command, and a skill with a pen that seems to delight or enrage whoever reads what the man has published. George is tired, the war has only truly begun but it has been backed by failure on their part, on his part. The position he has accepted weighs heavily on his shoulders, the lives he has led to slaughter as they face the red coats are burned into his eyes at night.

Part of him wishes that Congress had chosen someone else to lead the army, that he might wake up from it all like a bad dream with Martha beside him. But George believes in what they’re fighting in, England has become corrupt with greed and the seeds of independence have already sown deep roots. Even if they fail George knows that it won’t be over, Scotland has been quelled before but that doesn’t mean anything.

Still, George will try anything to win the war. He calls the young man to his tent and listens idly to Burr speak as he waits, half-interested and considering the man, he has heard of the legacy on his shoulders and wonders if that is what he is pursuing. Then the tent flap is brushed aside and George watches a young man, a kid, with a face thinned by poverty and sharp eyes stumble inside and salute.

He dismisses Burr but tucks the name aside as he stares at Hamilton, questions him and watches him flinch when George says the word son. Hamilton’s eyes go wide before George has even offered the position and he raises a brow and tucks it aside as the young man accepts the position, immediately seating himself at George’s desk to fumble through the papers.

It is only the start of what George comes to know as Hamilton’s practically insane work-ethic, the man works until the candles have burned out, hunched over the desk with ink smeared over his face as he pens letter after letter to Congress.

George watches in the same way one might watch a collision of unfortunate events about to occur. He encourages Hamilton to take a night off to little success, even enlists his friends to drag him out but Laurens is just as dedicated to the cause and Lafayette tries with varying degrees of unsuccessfulness.

It is one late night that George particularly feels his years that he stumbles through the current building they are holed up in and pauses outside the door where yellow light spools weakly onto the floor. It is early, too early and the world outside the room seems to be plunged in darkness but for Alexander writing, his head drooping towards the desk before he jerks awake and continues.

Shaking his head, George steps into the room, his steps aren’t particularly quiet but Alexander doesn’t notice not even as he settles his hands on the young man’s shoulders and heaves him out of the chair. Alexander scrambles to place his quill on the desk and his face is aflame as George settles him on his feet.

He chastises the young man who mumbles back his common, not your son, even as he sways on his feet and suddenly collapses; he fears a sickness again as Alexander seems prone to them. George wraps his arms around the young man, who is far too light even with their rations (he is tempted to set Martha on him) and that is when Alexander’s sleeve rides up.

The script that crosses Alexander’s arms his elegant, a multitude of different fonts spread out and filling up his forearms, he tries to recall if he has seen the man with his sleeves unbuttoned but cannot think of such a time.

His eyes narrow as he spots the font curled near Alexander’s elbows, his own words pressed there onto his aide’s arm. Alexander blinks blearily up at him before he follows George’s line of sight and goes pale, as pale as the fresh snow fall at night.

“Sir.”

Alexander begins likely to explain himself for a perceived insult, that or to insist it means nothing; it doesn’t, it means something. George settles a hand on the young man’s arm and replies that they can speak of it later, he is worried that Alexander might collapse at any moment.

The words linger on his mind and though they don’t overtly speak of it again, Alexander softens towards him slightly and his protests seem half-hearted at best. George does what he always does in these situations and writes to Martha. She advises him to simply act as he were, after all he doesn’t have a matching mark.

He does his best to keep the lad from harm even if that means sending Alexander away from his side and to his wife.

5

Alexander Hamilton’s eyes are the first thing she notices about him, handsome yes definitely. But it is his eyes, they are filled with a fire that even the other soldiers trying to enchant her lack, it is something she thinks might be about survival. Then he opens his mouth, matches her wit and she feels her heart stutter to a stop in her chest with thoughts of what they could be.

She sees Eliza’s face and it all falls flat.

_Satisfied_ , she sees the words later beneath _Helpless_ and thinks of what could have been, but she has no mark to hold Alexander, only her wit which might burn just as quickly as quell. Eliza has his words, his heart, and Angelica tucks it all inside happy to speak and write to Alexander, at least she has that.

After all, the name on her wrist isn’t a man’s name, in any situation she will never be satisfied.

She returns to America at Eliza’s request, though it is the thought of seeing Alexander again that solidifies the decision. When he refuses to come, she cannot help the bitter tears, but they are washed away in the warmth of her family, she sees Alexander and Eliza in their children and decides to forget what could have been.

In the aftermath of Philip’s death Angelica returns to America once more and stares at the shell of what might have been Alexander, he is drawn and tired, clothed in black which pales the warmth of his eyes. In the warmth of their home, he peels back his sleeves for her once more and Angelica cries soundlessly at the faded grey words that are beginning to consume the man in front of her. She has lost John, though he was never her soulmate they grew to love each other well enough and the pain was unbearable.

She cannot imagine that all-consuming pain repeated over and over again. But Alexander has lived it. They take walks with Eliza through the town and Angelica doesn’t leave, she stays by their side and helps care for the children, writes under Alex’s pseudonym and tries to remind him that he hasn’t lost everything, she is satisfied.

6

When he raises his sleeves for the first time she catches only a glimpse of the sprawl of ink covering his arms and thinks in the background of her mind about sharing but then she see the word _Helpless_ followed by two marks that must belong to her sisters her heart leaps out of her chest and her fingers can not pull her sleeve away fast enough to show the matching mark on her wrist.

Alexander’s eyes go wide and watery, the saying about eyes being a window to the soul seems suddenly clear as he grasps her wrist with gentle fingers and states, “If it takes fighting a war to meet you it would have been worth it.”

Eliza is kind yes, but not naïve. She knows that Alexander is marrying for money, that he has troubled past, that just because they share a mark doesn’t mean they are meant to be anything more than friends. But Eliza is also hopeful and when the letters arrives, she tucks them aside after each line to just breathe the smile on her lips too much to contain. Angelica watches her with narrowed sad eyes she thinks she hides but Eliza has always been a little bit selfish.

On the day before their wedding Alexander pulls her aside, Peggy is in the room so they are somewhat chaperoned but she is reading in the corner or at least pretending to. Alexander unbuttons his sleeves and she feels her face heat, he winks and the shakes his head as he pulls his sleeves up and states, “You deserve to know what you’re getting into.”

She has seen a flash of this before but here and now she trails her fingers lightly over the words, names, things that haven’t been written, ones she can guess at because Alexander is a man with a heart too wide for the world to bear.

“I still love you, I can’t control it and it’s just-“

She interrupts Alexander before his words can become a messy spiel, she takes his wrists and replies, “I know, it’s you Alexander and I am marrying you.”

If possible, he looks like he has fallen in love again.

When Alexander returns in the middle of the war, he is angry she can tell, stewing and ready to burst but it all disappears when he sees the swell of her stomach. She has always thought of Alexander as a strong man and the way he breaks does nothing to diminish that as she wipes away the tears and guides him inside.

The cost of so much love becomes clear soon after the war, it is before the letter has even arrived. He closes himself in his study for long hours and refuses to eat and when she delivers the letter of John Laurens’ passing, she sees the faded grey lettering and realises.

It is not the first lost, but perhaps the hardest for Alexander to bear, he forces himself into his work like he is trying to reshape himself. Eliza supports him as best as she can and doesn’t mention the letters she has seen or what the past once held.

Alexander tells Eliza when they return from upstate about what had almost happened, he cannot look her in the eye. She asks what happens instead and when he says the name Hercules Mulligan he glances at his arm. She presses a kiss to his cheek and pens a letter to Mulligan; she also refuses to let him not take a vacation again.

When Peggy passes, they comfort each other, their pain for once is equal and Eliza knows it would be easy to drown in it, to let it consume them but they pull through, she has the children to care for. Alexander writes letters that he never sends.

Then. Then it is Philip and the pain is worse than she has even borne before, their son who they cradled in their arms. Gone.

Angelica returns to America and they walk the city streets together, Alexander spends the nights away from his desk in her arms tracing the grey lines. They aren’t happy not in their grief but they are together and it is enough.

When he leaves that day, so early in the morning, Eliza goes back to bed with her heart heavy in her chest. She presses her fingers to his mark and waits counting to ten over and over again as the sun begins to lighten the sky.

He comes home.

7

Peggy doesn’t expect to like Alexander Hamilton, not when he has so captured the hearts of both her older sisters. It’s the principle of it. So, when she is introduced, she glares at him and seals her lips refusing to speak. Peggy doesn’t get why Eliza and Angelica wax poetic about his eyes even if they are very nice and when he presses a kiss to her hand they crinkle at the corners.

She agrees to play chess with him and they start talking about the suffrage movement which Angelica won’t stop speaking about even when they’re all supposed to be asleep. As such Peggy has picked up on more than enough of it to debate with Alexander.

It’s fun, he doesn’t treat her like a child but he also isn’t ruthless like Angelica, he’ll help her direct her thoughts right or even add some information to a point he doesn’t necessarily support. They write letters, and hers are less flowery than Eliza’s and less witty than Angelica’s but she’s always felt like she has to compare herself to her older sisters.

She confesses as much in her letters, it is a slip of the pen more or less and she worries for a week that Alexander might take the words and deliver them to Eliza for some sort of favour but he responds about his own older brother.

It as if a door that Peggy has never seen opens up and they confide in each other, she learns what so few others learn of Alexander, he confesses his fears to her, his worries that he doesn’t speak for fear of being weak. In turn, Peggy can write her thoughts without fear of her sisters interfering, of the war, of her father.

When he visits again for dinner (to ask for Eliza’s hand obviously) they have a moment in the library just the two of them with the chess set in front of them and she watches as Alexander very carefully unbuttons his sleeves.

She is concerned for a moment, not for her character, but for Alexander who has never willingly shown his arms since Peggy has known him. He rolls the sleeves up and turns his arm over, there on his arm underneath _Helpless_ and _Satisfied_ is her name.

Peggy reaches out with a shaking hand and runs her fingers lightly over the letters. She does not have a matching soul mark, hers is the name of a man she has not met, and she has another she has told only Alexander about which is a woman’s name.

“I thought you should know, if I’m going to marry your sister.”

He suggests trying to sound calm but Alexander Hamilton walks around with his heart on his sleeve. Peggy smiles and pulls the man into a hug as she questions, “You’ll still write right?”

Alexander laughs, this she can agree with her sisters, he has a very nice laugh, and nods.

Later, many years later, Peggy gets sick and she knows in that way that all creatures seem to know that it is her last. She writes to Alexander and prays that her passing will not affect him too deeply, she worries for her sisters, and hopes that they will recover.

Alexander never recovers and writes letters that he never sends.

8

He doesn’t expect to like Alexander Hamilton, the man is infuriating at the best of times (Thomas has ranted to him more than once and James can’t quite disagree with most of what he says). But Hamilton is also among other things earnest and a talented writer.

When he propositions the Federalist Papers, which is a name James doesn’t necessarily agree with, he considers it but, in the end, agrees. There is something exhilarating about writing anonymously with Hamilton, who proceeds to write like he is running out of time and hours in the day.

James completes twenty-nine and calls it a day. Hamilton writes fifty-one and James suspects he would continue to write if he wasn’t distracted by Thomas Jefferson’s return and his attempt to seize control of the banks. It is the last time he thinks of Hamilton as anything but an opponent for a while.

A concession is necessary, Thomas mentions a dinner and James thinks of working closer to home, or the power it would provide the South. Thomas’ eyes get a near unholy gleam in them and James is forced to wonder how this man bares his name on his wrist.

They unbutton their sleeves when the deal is settled, Thomas brings out the expensive wine and James observes the slow loosening of Hamilton’s shoulders as he sips the wine but refuses to undo his sleeves even in the hot weather; James chalks it up to propriety high off of their victory.

They confront Hamilton in his office, there are whispers of Speculation but nothing concrete and they all know it. There are rumours of sodomy (of Lafayette and John Laurens both gone, one in France and the other to the grave), at best they can hope to unnerve Hamilton, maybe he’ll slip and spill something else.

He smiles at the three of them a coy smile and pulls out a stack of paper and places it on the desk with a shit-eating grin, pay stubs of everything, the receipts, anything they could possibly ask for on charges of Speculation. Hamilton obviously has an idea of what else they wish to accuse him of as his expression shifts and with narrow lips, he unbuttons the sleeves of his shirt and pushes them aside.

James eyes are immediately drawn to the opening to the Declaration of Independence printed on Hamilton’s left arm along with a whole collection of other words and script. Then he glances at the right arm and sees the first few amendments to the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the ones he wrote and a feeling like a stone drops into his stomach as he stares at Hamilton who raises a brow. Dully he notices Burr beside him is pale also staring at the writing on Hamilton’s arms.

They leave without a leg to stand on and James still feel shocked even as Thomas rounds on them and says, “We tell no one.”

James agrees readily enough and can only imagine how it might affect them all if it is revealed that Alexander Hamilton has ten soul mates. Three of which are members of government. Later, without Burr, they discuss it and agree to forget about it.

Then Hamilton sends a letter asking for an opinion on a piece he’s working on and even though technically they’re political enemies and he should hate Hamilton he doesn’t. James edits the piece and sends it back. It becomes habit for a letter to appear out of the blue. James is content to aid from afar even as Thomas tries to decimate the man who has their words on his arms. 

9

The first Thomas hears of Hamilton is from James as he arrives in New York. That is partially a lie, he has heard of the man who was aide-de-camp to Washington from Lafayette but he tuned most of it out because the Marquis is fanciful at the best of times.

Still, he does not expect the tiny man with fiery eyes and a green coat of all things to just his chin out as he introduces himself. Thomas thinks sure and is more than happy to attempt to stop Alexander’s frankly ridiculous plan to assume control through the banks.

He admits it to James only once, but their cabinet meetings are always fun when he can get Hamilton riled up, no one else tries really.

Still, it is more than frustrating and Thomas would be more than happy to let Hamilton’s plan fall through, but James mentions the capitol and it seems a quid pro quo could work. Dinner is a stilted affair but they seal a deal and after he brings out the wine and watches carefully as Hamilton studies the liquid for a long moment. They unbutton their sleeves in the humid summer air but Hamilton doesn’t and Thomas begins to wonder.

In the midst of grief after his wife passes, Thomas shuffles through the pitying letters idly contemplating throwing each one into the fire. He sees one from Hamilton and the desire nearly becomes a reality as he holds it over the fire grate. Curiosity wins out and Thomas slices the letter open.

It surprisingly isn’t meaningless platitudes, it’s short and simple which is also surprising.

Simply, it states that Hamilton recently lost a soulmate and that words fail to truly describe the pain. Hold close to those around you it says.

Thomas is disdainful but he writes to James nonetheless.

When they try to confront Hamilton, he grins, it is one of those infuriating grins he pulls out when Washington sides with him. The stack of paper thunks onto the desk loud in the stillness of the office and Hamilton knows it isn’t over as he unbuttons his sleeves and there on his left arm is the Declaration of Independence. You know the thing he wrote.

James will late say, “All’s fair in love and war Thomas. I suppose it’s rather Roman in nature.”

Thomas will respond, “Well then we better hope I can be a better Brutus.”

The point though is that they all agree to say nothing because Thomas cannot deal with the mere social repercussions alone of what would happen if it was revealed that Hamilton had him as a soul mate.

When he hears of the death of Hamilton’s son, he sends a letter expressing his condolences. He doesn’t expect a response, not when he never sent a reply himself. But he gets a letter that says that it means a lot from one of his remaining soul mates; Thomas is forced to ask with growing horror how many Hamilton has already lost.

The Election is a tie and the public settles their ravenous eyes on Hamilton. Thomas says aside to James that is a bit unfair making Hamilton choose. James rolls his eyes and replies, “If it was a matter of soul mates, he would choose Burr. But Hamilton has always put America first.”

And he does. Thomas reads the words and understands clearly that Hamilton choose him for his political beliefs alone, it still doesn’t stop the warmth that suffuses his veins. If they correspond on occasion after that, nobody needs to know.

10

The moment the kid says, “Pardon me are you Aaron Burr sir?” he knows. Those aren’t even the words wrapped around Aaron’s wrist but it is the sort of thing one knows instantly. He turns and stares at the kid, because he is a kid, thin and with bright eyes. Aaron listens to the kid ramble half-amused but mostly just tired as he tells the kid to _talk less, smile more_. He watches Hamilton’s reaction; the kid tilts his head and frowns but says nothing.

He does what always does and waits.

They meet again in the General’s tent, Aaron is trying to state his case and in stumbles Hamilton, he is no taller than when he last saw him and is in fact thinner with deep bags beneath his eyes but when he sees Aaron his eyes light up. Aaron wonders what he did to deserve that.

The dismissal stings hot and heavy in his throat but Aaron puts it aside, he has at least spoken to the general and his actions will stand for him all he has to do is wait.

The invitation to Hamilton’s wedding sends something equally warm and cold through his chest. He talks to Theodosia, who has always understood him sometimes better than he could ever understand himself. She traces the words on his wrist and says, “You want him to be happy just as much as you want him to be yours.”

He goes anyways and ignores the bitter aftertaste in favour of the happiness on Hamilton’s face when he kisses his bride. He thinks it could be enough.

After the war they work together and Aaron watches with ever growing concern as Alexander throws himself into his work. He talks to Theodosia, who speaks to Eliza on occasion, and hears about John Laurens, apparently one of Alexander’s soulmates. Aaron says nothing but most nights he stops at Alexander’s office and forces the man to put whatever he is working on down and go home to his family; he suddenly doesn’t envy Washington at all if this is what he had to deal with.

Eliza thanks him with a smile and when Theodosia falls sick plies him with baked goods and kind words.

It is a strange turn of events when it is Alexander on his doorstep late at night instead. Aaron listens skeptically and considers it for a moment, thinks of working alongside Alex to write essays. He says no anyways, he has no idea what the Constitution might bring and it is safer to wait with the fate of his wife and children dependant on him. He tries to ignore how crestfallen Alexander looks.

In the aftermath of the dinner, the one in the room where it happened, Aaron thinks suddenly and desperately that he wants that, wants to be the one impacting their new nation, maybe in truth that he wants to be beside Alexander while they’re doing it.

Running for senator wasn’t supposed to hurt Hamilton but it does anyway. He doesn’t see why their friendship has to end and says as much, Hamilton’s response as always is never what is expected. Aaron feels like he’s made a mistake somewhere but he can’t find it yet, an error in the stitching set to unravel everything.

When Theodosia dies, he doesn’t receive a letter from Hamilton, instead he shows up at his door and before Aaron can blearily ask him what he’s doing he’s being hugged by Alexander. Eliza follows behind him and goes to Aaron’s daughter to speak to her in a soft voice. But all Aaron can focus on is the feel of Alexander’s arms around him and he lets go. They don’t really speak of it, just like they don’t speak about what happened after Peggy Schuler passed.

When Jefferson and Madison bring it up Aaron agrees even knowing that they have nothing when they go to confront Hamilton. He is at his desk tired and weary but when he sees Aaron his eyes light up for a fraction of a second before he notices Madison and Jefferson.

After dismantling any possible charge of Speculation, Hamilton shakes his head and peels open his sleeves. Aaron can’t possibly know what is running through his head but he wants to as he stares first at the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and there on Alexander’s wrist in his writing; _talk less, smile more._

The shock is a silencing thing and they all agree not to speak of it but Aaron is left to wonder why Alexander never spoke of it. He thinks of his own reaction of the scrawl of ink covering Alexander’s arms and thinks for the first time that they both waited too long.

Then Alexander’s son dies and Aaron is in a strange state of enemy and friend, but Theodosia was always close with Philip, so he sends his daughter with their condolences and their own baked goods. She returns and pats him on the arm which is less than helpful.

The Election is its own problem.

Alexander studies him with narrowed eyes, his hair has gone grey and his sleeves are unbuttoned, Aaron can see how many names have faded from his arms. Then Hamilton supports Jefferson and Aaron forgets about the soul mark on his wrist, forgets about politics because it has always been Hamilton.

They meet at Weehawken and he watches Alexander fiddle with his gun thinking of his daughter at home, thinking of Hamilton’s wife and children at home. Their sleeves ride up and he can see his words on Hamilton’s wrist from the distance and knows Hamilton can do the same. Before he is thinking about it, he is shooting at the sky; Alex does the same.

They go home and the world is wide enough again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading I hope you enjoyed this. I have the idea for another smaller part floating around so we'll see. If I'm honest I have a few ideas maybe even a reincarnation thing (let me know what you guys think). Anyways, comments are always super appreciated thanks!


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